Sleeping Together
by Lizard Pie
Summary: The Apocalypse has come and gone, and now comes an even greater challenge: a nap.


It was a modern ceiling fan, Crowley had insisted.

To Aziraphale, it looked like every other one he'd ever bothered to notice. But there was a slight curve to the blades that maximized airflow and a price tag for twice the norm. Perfect for hot, sticky days where you otherwise wouldn't be able to sleep as the explanation went.

Crowley promptly demonstrated, after telling Aziraphale to give it a try.

He'd dutifully laid in bed, and closed his eyes, but there had to be a lot more to it than that. He was sure there was something else to the experience than listening to the soft whir and click of the fan and feeling the crisp silk sheets beneath him.

He'd never bothered to make an actual home for himself. There was the book shop, of course, with a bit of a lounge and kitchen in the back for tea and to read without people butting in wanting to actually buy books. But it wasn't what one would think of as a residence as much as an office.

The flat, on the other hand, was in a never ending state of flux. Aside from a few choice possessions, the furniture was always in style (or the style before the latest, as was mostly the case). Crowley insisted on looking the part even in places where nobody would see him. So he was the more obvious home decorator of the two.

He'd quickly filled the cottage with a sharp living room set, a kitchen full of cutting edge (and not plugged in) appliances, and a garden that now bloomed after a "proper taking to". Of course, everything to do with the bedroom.

The one room that was distinctly Aziraphale's, what they'd bought the cottage for, was the office with the wall-sized bookcase. He'd chosen to compliment it with a modest desk, a Tiffany lamp, and a few hundred of his favorite books. And the most comfortable arm chair he could find, of course.

He'd been in the process of filling that room when Crowley had said the bed was put together and he wanted a nap. He'd phrased it as "we need a nap" and, next thing Aziraphale knew, they were both laid down together.

Crowley had become quite the expert over the centuries, and had rather immediately fallen into a deeply self-satisfied sleep. His body was twisted in a way that Aziraphale assumed was considerably more fit for a branch than a bed. He made it look so easy.

And maybe it was? Maybe he was just over-thinking it. Alright, start over.

Keeping eyes closed was a major part of it, so he did that. He'd already lain down on a comfortable bed in a comfortable room, so check that off too. And he'd read somewhere that counting was supposed to help.

1

2

3

4

There were 4 novels in the detective series he'd selected. They were set during the disco era, with heists and wordplay that wove through the shady clubs that Crowley had adored. In his mind's eye, Aziraphale could see the demon curled over the armchair for hours on end trying to decode them. They'd have long discussions of characters and plots, and at the tragic end of the series Crowley would ask him for another recommendation, of which he had several lined up. It was why he'd bought the chair, after all.

It was only one of the multitude of plans he'd made for their retirement. Picnics, dance classes, wine tastings... the million things he read about in romance novels. He stocked those strictly for quick sales of course, and only read them to make sure that they fit his exacting standards. He'd kept notes for the same reason, of course, and not at all that he'd spent his time serving Heaven planning for something like this.

Decades of not planning for this, really. And all he had to do was

"You figure it out, yet?"

Aziraphale scoffed. "Of course not. Goodness never sleeps, after all. It wasn't in my nature to nap."

"Evil never sleeps, Angel," Crowley corrected, stretched out with his arms behind his head. "And I figured it out just fine, thank you very much. Maybe you," he said, silkily, "Just need some proper encouragement."

"Such as?"

"Such as I tire you out until you can't manage to stay awake anymore."

Aziraphale could feel the way the slitted eyes moved behind the glasses.

"I have my ways, after all."

"I suppose that you'll just need to show me," he said, more defiantly than he'd felt. There were hardly reasons to be so stand-offish anymore, what with their alliances torn down and all. But old habits died hard, and Crowley was not the sort who should know that he had an open invitation. He could do anything with that! He had countless times before.

For example, he could lead Aziraphale up off the bed and then pull him close. Such as begin to lead a smooth waltz that Aziraphale's feet somehow managed to match along with. Such as keep up with flowing music that came vaugely from the direction of a still-boxed radio, the sort that dipped and swelled at just the right points.

And then

And then

It always took a few minutes for Crowley to untangle himself from his sleeping position. He'd never gotten used to the hassle of legs, much less so when he was unconscious. But the bed had done its job well, more than well in fact, and Crowley was quite ready for the afternoon watering where he'd lay into the slacking line of dog roses along the back fence.

"Did you mange-" The words cut off when he saw Aziraphale snoring, softly, his mouth twitched upwards just a bit.

His first dream, and a good one. Couldn't break that.

Crowley had an awful lot of work ahead of him, anyway. They had the rest of time ahead of them, however long that was, and getting this place set up was the first crucial step.


End file.
